


Misha's Hands Are...

by earth_dragon



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Fluff, Hand porn, M/M, Mention of blood, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:12:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earth_dragon/pseuds/earth_dragon
Summary: Misha has exquisite hands.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been obsessed with Misha's beautiful hands lately. So, of course, I figured Jensen would be as well. I know all of you are. ;)

Misha’s hands are covered in flour.

 

Jensen can’t help but grin as he raises his beer to his lips. The rest of the house is in complete chaos -- Jared, Gen, and their brood are in the living room playing some kind of loud game and having a grand time; Vicki was last seen chasing West up the stairs with a pool noodle; and Dani, JJ, and Maison were all giggling along to a movie playing in the den.

 

The house was in very loud, very boisterous chaos, and yet Misha was able to smile placidly and continue kneading his bread dough, almost as if he were in meditation.

 

It was a hell of a feat, really, given the man’s surroundings.

 

Misha loved to cook, and he was damn good at it. Jensen knew that cooking was one of the things Misha did as a show of care for his loved ones. It would be easier, less time consuming, to just buy ready-made bread, but it wouldn’t have the same kind of taste or homey feel that Misha prized.

 

Store bought wasn’t what allowed Misha to feel like he was providing and caring for his family.

 

Jensen watched, his heart full and well-loved, as Misha expertly cracked eggs into a bowl; there were no drips, no dropped pieces of shell, no waste or excess, just the smooth, fluid movement of strong fingers long-accustomed to such practiced movements. Misha dipped a pastry brush into the egg wash and gently painted the hand kneaded dough with careful brush strokes, back and forth, with only the lightest pressure.

 

He was always so careful, so gentle. Misha was always so loving.

 

Jensen had to smile.

 

He continued to watch as Misha finally wrapped up his work and carefully popped the bread into the warm oven to bake. In a few hours everyone would be able to sit down at the table and eat his hand crafted creation. Jensen was so proud of him.

 

“What are you grinning at Jensen Ackles?” Misha finally asked, washing his dough-sticky hands under the warm, soapy water. “Don’t think I didn’t see you lurking over there.”

 

Jensen continued to grin. “Nothing, love. Just really like your bread. That’s all.”

 

~~*~~

 

Misha’s hands are covered in blood.

 

Misha’s hands are covered in blood and Jensen is pretty sure he’s going to vomit. 

 

“MISHA! Oh my God! What --”

 

“I’m fine. I’m fine!”

 

“You’re not fine! What the hell?” Jensen doesn’t even pay attention to whatever it is he’s knocked over across the counter in his haste to grab a clean dish towel. His only concern right now is stopping the bleeding.

 

“Just a bit of an accident out in the garage.”

 

“A bit of an accident?” He all but screeches, pressing the cloth hard into the palm of Misha’s left hand, where most of the blood seems to be stemming from. Misha’s beautiful, elegant fingers are dripping crimson pain all over the tile floor, and Jensen doesn’t understand how the man isn’t screaming with it. 

 

“You’ve cut your hand in half!”

 

“Jensen, no!”

 

“What the hell were you doing, Misha? Why is it bleeding so badly?” Jensen growled, gnashing his teeth against the swaying room. And why was the kitchen so hot anyway? The thermostat wasn’t up that high, but he was sweating.

 

He just needed to catch his breath. So he could help Misha.

 

So he could help Misha stop the bleeding.

 

But he was starting to sway badly. Why was the room spinning?

 

“JENSEN STOP!” Misha yelled.

 

Suddenly the room came back into focus and Jensen could see Misha’s furious, bright blue eyes boring right into him.

 

“Get a hold of yourself, Jensen,” Misha spoke sternly, far too calm for someone who was covered in their own blood. “You’re starting to panic, and that’s not going to help anybody. Stop it.  Now, do you actually want to help me?”

 

That question brought Jensen up short, and made him feel a little ashamed of himself. “Yes,” he answered softly. “Yes, of course I do.”

 

“Ok then,” Misha replied, and even gave a gentle smile. “Then you have to believe me -- it’s bleeding a lot, but it honestly isn’t as bad as it looks. It does need stitches, though, so I’m going to need you to drive me to urgent care. Are you ok do that?”

 

Jensen swallowed nervously. “Ye-yes.”

 

Misha eyed him critically, clearly not quite believing him.

 

“Yes,” Jensen told him again, forcing himself together. It was true, he had initially panicked at seeing Misha covered in blood. Dean may be a master at handling emergency situations, but Jensen knew he tended to fall apart at the idea of his loved ones in pain. But Misha needed him to be alert and focused right now, so he would be.

 

Misha needed him.

 

“Yeah, of course. Let’s go.”

 

~~*~~

 

Misha’s hands are covered in spunk.

 

Jensen still hasn’t caught his breath and his heart is beating faster than a horse can gallop. He’s just had a fantastic orgasm at Misha’s hands and he’s still trying to calm down.

 

And then Misha, the little shit, slyly licks up the length of his own come-covered index finger. All Jensen can do is groan.

 

And twitch, apparently.

 

He’s in his mid 30s, and no matter how sexy, and sometimes downright obscene Misha is, there’s no way Jensen is going to recover so quickly. But bonus points to his dick for trying.

 

Misha just laughs mischievously. “Mmm, have a good time there, Jens?”

 

“You know I did,” Jensen punches out in a huffing laugh. “Cocky bastard.”

 

“You love me, though.”

 

“I do,” he agrees easily. “God help me.”

 

Misha grins that huge gummy smile and Jensen tugs at his wrist to get him to lie back down next to him. “Hey, c’mer.”

 

“What?”

 

“Know something else I love?” Without waiting for an answer, Jensen takes Misha’s still wet finger and sucks it between his lips. It’s incredibly gratifying when Misha moans.

 

“You -- ah! You have a hand fetish, Jensen.”

 

“Only maybe.” 

 

Jensen continues to lick, suck, and nibble over the long fingers that he so loves. Misha’s hands have given him so much pleasure over the years -- they have fed him, held him, helped him, wiped his tears, soothed his pains, and even bled for him.

 

They have loved him.

 

“Only maybe my ass!”

 

“Yeah, I like your ass too,” Jensen says, placing one final kiss into the scar that runs across the palm of Misha’s left hand. He rolled them over so he hovered just above Misha’s prone, gorgeous body.

 

“Maybe you should do something about that, then,” Misha teased, grinning. He bucked up to rub his erection against Jensen’s hip, clearly eager to have the favor returned.

 

Jensen sat up on his knees, straddling Misha’s hips, and gave the man below him a long, appreciative look. The palms of his own hands itched to touch his beautiful lover; his fingers longed to curl around heated flesh.

 

Misha had exquisite hands: strong, gentle, and so loving. 

 

But Jensen knew his weren’t bad, either, and he couldn’t wait to put them to use.

 

“Yeah, maybe I should.”

  
  
  



End file.
